


the whites of their teeth are like flashes of lightening

by kittu9



Category: Rurouni Kenshin
Genre: Gen, Gossip, Propriety, Shame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-01
Updated: 2011-06-01
Packaged: 2017-10-20 00:25:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/206840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittu9/pseuds/kittu9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kamiya Kaoru has neighbors. They talk, mostly behind her back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the whites of their teeth are like flashes of lightening

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted February 2006.

It’s a longstanding joke that Kamiya-sensei’s daughter is as graceless as she is; her neighbors, some of whom have known her since birth, ignore her in a way that is less fond than it is tolerant—which is an improvement to how she is greeted in the market-place, with tones of disapproval and condescension. _No matter how lovely she grows_ , says Miyabe-san to Suzuki-san, _Kamiya-sensei’s daughter is not at all becoming._ (Miyabe-san is only a little older than Kamiya-san and has her first child besides. She smoothes her kimono demurely as she speaks.) Kamiya-san talks like a man and ties her kimono all wrong and she will never, ever find a husband—in fact, at eighteen, Kamiya-san is practically an old maid, and at this, Suzuki-san clicks her tongue derisively.

(Funnily enough, when Kaoru bothers to worry about appearances, she worries about the opinions of men. So absorbed is she in a world where she cannot hope to gain ground, let alone stand upon it—a woman is a woman is a woman, no matter if she can use a sword—Kaoru doesn’t understand the danger of demure women. She isn’t aware of how, with less than a frown or a nod or a smile withheld, entire reputations can be vanquished. A woman’s power is one of subtleties, of politics; over time, as she is shunned to the very edges of the prefecture, Kaoru will never connect her exile with the polite greetings that she receives from the merchants’ wives in the market-place.)

 _Have you heard,_ says Miyabe-san, _Kamiya-san has taken a man into her house_.

Miyabe-san and Suzuki-san giggle as they talk about the stranger—who, as seen in the market, seems kind and polite and a little handsome despite his scars. But his mannerisms are like a woman’s (or a semblance of a woman’s, the same way Kamiya-san tries to fit in amongst the men; he seems desperate not to offend) and he has been seen doing the household chores more than once.

Even as harmless as he seems, his mere presence is enough to shatter the last vestiges of an honorable reputation—although it’s the grain of rice that tips the scales, really. Kamiya-san has had this coming for a long time.

(They dance around each other, the wary movements of persons trained to move according to instinct. Kaoru finds herself feeling increasingly uncertain every time she speaks with Kenshin and tries to hide it with feigned enthusiasm and bursts of temper—he retreats behind a heavy façade of politeness and empty smiles.)

(Sometimes Kaoru thinks that he disapproves of her, but she could not be further from the truth; touched by her honest vibrancy, Kenshin finds himself mesmerized by her rough gestures and ways of speech—unlike him she has few secrets. Even her body language is open, her eyes guileless—but he has spent half a lifetime reading the unsaid thoughts of subtle and dangerous people, and he is a little aware of the calculating glances that Kaoru receives from other women. He keeps himself apart from her out of respect, partially, but also because he is doing his best to protect her. Raised by a patient man, unused to falsehoods, Kaoru cannot understand that, more than all his years of regret combined, Kenshin truly does want to reach out, to touch her—and the confusion, oddly, makes her more of a woman, guarding a careful and secret hurt.)

 _How_ strange _she is!_ The women whisper (in their own secret language, this is communicated with a sidelong glance, an upturned wrist, and a half smile, sly, graceful). And secretly, behind their guarded and swift judgments, they feel sorry for Kamiya-san; so open is she that they, with their easy intuition, often glimpse at her loneliness, her struggle that is as active as breathing. They are a little envious (especially Miyabe-san, who hides bruises—the only love tokens she receives from her husband—under her sleeves and behind her dark eyes) and they find themselves compelled, watching Kamiya-san’s life unfold, each strange, heart-sore, and lovely little mistake after another.


End file.
